input/output
the slow act of patient cultivation
Happy Friday. I hope your thanksgiving was a good one, filled with good people, good friends/family, and maybe even some new memories. I’m writing this from the couch while watching the Packer game, feeling a bit sleepy and full. Supposedly we’re having a winter storm this weekend too, as if we needed more reasons to feel festive. We’re getting our second Christmas tree tomorrow, so it’s a perfect weekend to be cozy and warm. The previous sentences were indeed written last Thursday, but I’m finishing up writing this for the following week - we did have a decent snowstorm, and it was a super cozy weekend. One of the most restful and cozy in a good long while.
input
As creative endeavors have become more regular in my life, I’ve become more familiar with the ebbs and flows of the process. One particular thing I’ve been paying attention to over the past few weeks has been the contrast of input vs. output. I’ve talked at length about gathering up creative inspirations, and in doing so, I’ve gotten a good idea of just how difficult that can really be for me. The practice of creative presence will look different for everyone; for me in December 2025, it looks like walks, chewing on musical ideas before I run to the DAW to try them out, jotting notes, and cultivating a life that I feel matches the sounds I’m pursuing for my next album, to name a few. I’m no stranger to becoming obsessed with an idea and letting it marinate, but there’s a patience aspect in there if I want to let it set in to the fullest extent. For example, I’m currently on a tape kick right now: I’m certain I want to record with tape, I’m looking into tape machines, I bought one a microcassette transcriber, and I’m slowly crossing local thrift stores off the mental list as I see what kinds of electronics they do or not typically have. But…will I be over it in a week? So far, it’s not looking like it, but that’s the kind of thing I’m trying to pay more attention to. It’s so easy to buy the shiny new toy (or in this case, the old shiny toy), especially if you think it’ll give you a specific sound you’re looking for in your production, only to experience some buyer’s remorse when you realize you might’ve jumped the gun. I get the sense it’s a common experience in a world filled with millions of pedals, $3000 synthesizers, and VSTs galore.
All that said, it’s gonna take some time; I don’t know the exact way I’m going to route the audio from my transcriber, and the cables I ordered from amazon got lost, so I had to order them again from somewhere else and they probably won’t show up until next week at the soonest. That’s a literal example, but it’s strangely poignant. Although it won’t be any less exciting by the time I can try it out, I think it’ll be a bit more genuine. I have a brain that burns bright on inspiration for a short time by default, so this between space of waiting to use a new thing used to scare me. I often experience having a “great” idea that I couldn’t capitalize on soon enough, which led to an inevitable crash out when I tried to after the fact. That whole sentence is revealing. Why was I trying to capitalize on inspiration at all? Why was I so afraid of failure? I think it’s obvious there wasn’t only one factor, but it’s given me a lot to think about and reconsider, leading to this write up.
cultivation
What do you use to nourish yourself creatively? Are you tending to that particular garden, or does it get overlooked? I think the basic idea I’m trying to get at here is that it’s hard to create if you’re not taking care of yourself and building up things worth sharing. Flowers bloom when they’re ready, but they don’t do so randomly; there’s a whole process that takes time. Why would creating something beautiful be any different for you or me? If you’re feeling burned out, unsure, or like you just don’t have anything to give creatively, I’d encourage you to slow down, take inventory, and remember who you are. What inspires you, draws you out, and moves you to creation? Cherish those things, make space for them. Share them with the people who love you and support your work.
Final anecdote: I love taking walks, always have. It’s a good exercise for my mind and body, especially if I’m restless. I often find myself wishing I had my field recorder and camera along, because everything is just so beautiful. There’s birds, crunchy gravel, beautiful angles of light from the sun, quiet details. I want to capture it all. But the other day I stopped to think about it, and realized I get way more when I’m just…in it. Walking, listening, looking. Stopping to take a deep breath with closed eyes, taking in the world. That’s the kind of input I want to practice. Capturing the beauty and sharing it is wonderful, yet just experiencing is, too. It’s done more for my creative mental state than stressing about missing a moment ever did.
output
Output speaks for itself. I don’t know about you, but I’ve made a lot of demos I don’t like, I have substack drafts that I probably won’t ever look at, and plenty of failed attempts at other artistic projects. That’s just the way it goes. But if I’m being honest, a lot of those were the result of trying to force something. Every idea I have has to be great, right?? Unfortunately not the case, although I admittedly tend to be pretty into my own ideas. Often, our best work is the result of sharing ourselves genuinely and completely. Putting your heart and soul into something takes work and time, and this comes from places that are overgrown, ready to share. It’s good. If you’re not sure about your output, pay attention to your input. It’s a process, but you’re worth it, and so is your art. Thanks for reading.